


Staking his claim

by AllyinthekeyofX



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Clara made me write this, F/M, Fluff, Halloween Costumes, Mulder looks good as Dracula, No plot of any kind, Scully is gorgeous, Too much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyinthekeyofX/pseuds/AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: 'But I can’t go dressed like this; I just can’t and it’s far too late to rustle up another costume unless I’m prepared to drape a sheet over my head a la Casper the friendly ghost and that I’m afraid is a step way too far.' - Scully has a problem.





	

I honestly meant to check the dress in the costume shop when I picked it up; in fact, I meant to pick the damn thing up three days ago. But the unscheduled side trip to Texas put paid to any hope I may have had regarding trying it on before the actual night of the F.B.I.s annual Halloween benefit ball was upon me.

An F.B.I. ball for God’s sake; this would never have happened in the old days but it seems that even the Federal Government is no longer immune to the expectation that they should ‘do their bit’ in the name of philanthropy. The fact that the birth of social media means that not only does the Bureau have a twitter account, but you can also log on to Facebook and scroll through innumerable publicity shots of smiling Agents engaged in their pursuit of protecting the country; of ensuring they are spending those tax dollars wisely and even more crucially, that they actually care what the general populous thinks of them. I had been labouring under the delusion that the photos were posed by models but in fact, they are real live Agents with real live badges and real live guns. Every department is represented – from A-Z there is at least a paragraph or two of blurb that a Joe public hungry for information can log on to with just the click of a button or a touch of a screen. 

So far, we have managed to fly under the radar with regards to this particular public relations nightmare and one of the few letters not currently indexed on the handy drop-down menu is X but we both know it’s only a matter of time before Mulder and I are called upon to pose enigmatically with a paper mache model of a horny-toed lizard man or some other such nonsense. Mulder thinks it’s hilarious; but then again, Mulder would.

I was less than pleased to find a copy of the inter-departmental memo on my desk requesting our attendance of the aforementioned Ball – every department was expected to send two agents in full Halloween fancy dress to rub shoulders with the great and the good of DC and since our department is literally made up of Mulder and I, there was absolutely no getting out of it. Not that I didn’t try of course, especially when the first thing that jumped out at me was that it was set to take place on Mulders Birthday. Now, we’ve never been that big on Birthdays but this year is kind of special to us both, especially since we have finally began to find a way back again after some very dark years where we ran from each other as much as we pushed each other away. Echoes of our past finally engulfing us in ways I don’t think we had ever really envisaged and certainly didn’t fully understand. Mulder began to fall spectacularly and I found myself just too tired of everything to keep trying to catch him when he didn’t want to be caught. It was just easier to walk away; telling ourselves that our time was over, that we had simply run our course and that some hurt was just too big to let go.

All rubbish of course. And I don’t think either of us expected the separation to become as permanent as it turned out to be as days turned to months and months to years where our communication dwindled to sporadic phone conversations where neither one of us really knew what to say to open doors that, in our different ways we had slammed shut on each other. Like polite strangers we talked to each other without actually saying anything and it just became too painful for both of us. So much so that we literally pulled away from each other on every level possible and last year was the first year we didn’t acknowledge our Birthdays. I spent mine huddled miserably on the sterile couch in my sterile apartment waiting for the phone to ring and at the same time, praying it wouldn’t and spent Mulders in pretty much the same position; clutching on to my phone and wishing I had the guts to just bring up his number and speak to him; to check he was okay. I cried myself in to oblivion that night, cursing myself for my cowardice and him for ever allowing me to flee from him in the first place. 

But this year, this year is different.

Because my initial fears of working with him again, of falling back in to the darkness that engulfed us for so many years, have not materialised because Mulder is different – I don’t mean in the way he approaches things or that his passion for the work has waned – because aside from a little wobble where he began to question his own life choices, he is still as focused on his own version of the truth as he ever was. But we talk now. More than I think we ever have before and I now realise that possibly, walking away from each other was the only way we could ever hope to heal; that by removing myself as Mulders personal crutch he was left with two choices – to sink or swim and because he is the man he is, he chose to swim; finally seeking outside help to exorcise his demons and to heal himself in ways I hadn’t been able to during our years together and to a certain extent I have done the same. And it made it easier than I ever thought it could be to slot seamlessly back in to each other’s lives; easier than I could have imagined to fall instantly back in love with him.

Which is why this year, I had wanted to make his Birthday special - A celebration that marked a rebirth for us both, of a strengthened resolve to hold on to each other no matter what. 

I had told him just a few short days ago as we walked hand in hand through the long grass that surrounded that little house that had been witness to so much heartache, that humanity could only survive and hatred be defeated if we could all find a common language again. To listen to each other and to learn to love again; and just as I knew he would, he understood that I was offering him that chance for us too, asking him with my heart what I couldn’t quite find the courage to say out loud. And as the golden sunshine of early autumn warmed our skin he wrapped his arms around me and just held me against him, evoking within me such a sense of belonging that it literally took my breath away.

But we have taken things slowly, careful now to ensure we are doing all this for the right reasons, sharing kisses and caresses but not taking things further even though I think we both want to, needing to make this right because in many ways, as much as we both loved each other, everything back then was just so wrong; a relationship born of fear and hurt and desperation. And now we have been given a second chance to get it right; to build something sustainable; to love each other for no other reason than because we can’t not.

Which is why I wanted to make his Birthday special; just the two of us where I would cook us a nice dinner and we would maybe watch a movie and just be together. Not be plunged unwillingly in to a ballroom full of strangers, making small talk and being paraded around; expected to recount stories of our past work on the X Files to a crowd of slack-jawed politicians and worthy notables who could never hope to understand the sacrifices we had made during our years stuck in the basement and frankly, probably wouldn’t care even if they did. I could just about deal with it if I were able to approach it in a professional manner – enough gala dinners at the hospital has taught me well how to schmoose those with connections – but the directive from Skinners office clearly stated Halloween attire. 

Fancy dress. 

Spooky fancy dress no less.

And there lies the root of my problem.

Trying to make the best of it, Mulder and I had gone to choose our costumes. He had no problems picking something off the rack because despite a slight thickening of his middle over the years, for his age, Mulder is in incredible shape and pretty much everything he tried on looked like it had been made for him. But I can hardly be described being of either average height or build and even the petite range hung off me and it’s probably a good thing I didn’t have my gun on me because when Mulder gleefully suggested I might want to try the kids section I could have quite happily shot him on the spot. 

Instead, with as much dignity as I could muster, I asked if one of the costumes could be special ordered for me since I had noticed it was a service they offered. It was the only one I could even envisage myself wearing – not too sparkly, not too spooky and not too fussy. I suppose it could best be described as slightly medieval with a laced bodice, white ruffled top, gossamer cap sleeves and a skirt that fell to around mid calf. Simple, understated and about as classy as I was going to get given the circumstances; Mulder said it reminded him of a zombie serving wench which earned him a punch on the arm because frankly, at that point in time he seemed to be enjoying this whole ridiculous situation just a bit too much and all the time I was being measured he cracked lame jokes about mead with possibly the worst attempt at a British accent I have ever heard. But finally it was done. The dress was ordered; the deed was done and all I had to do was to try it on for size when it arrived.

Only I never did; because a part of me was hoping the whole thing would just go away and the other part was stuck halfway across the country with Mulder when the dress finally arrived and I only managed to pick it up this afternoon on my way home from work. But it was just a dress right? I mean what could possibly go wrong?

And now as I look at my reflection in the mirror, I could quite literally cry. Because the dress, from the waist up is perfect; the cut of the bodice accentuates my figure and frankly, makes my bust line look a lot more impressive than it actually is, the floating grey gossamer that trails down my arms is perfect against my pale skin and the way the bodice ends in a slight vee shape lengthens my torso slightly and creates the illusion that I am slightly taller than I actually am. 

But the rest of it? The rest of it is almost nonexistent; a skirt that is so short it is barely there at all flares out slightly at my hips and falls to a level that sits around mid thigh and teamed with the fishnet stockings I admit to buying purely for Mulders benefit, to my eyes at least, makes me look like a Halloween-esque hooker. Maybe if I were still in my twenties I would get away with it. But I am the wrong side of fifty and there is no way on this earth I am going out dressed like this. Which means Mulder will just have to go alone and probably be seduced by some sweet young thing from the typing pool who is dressed in a velveteen cat onesie with a tail. Mulder has a thing about onesies.

This thought actually slams me with the realisation that despite myself, there is a part of me that had actually been looking forward to tonight. To go with him to this event as a couple – the first event as a federal agent where we wouldn’t have to hide our relationship because much has changed during our time away and while not openly encouraged, consorting between agents is not frowned upon as it was a decade ago and certainly no longer grounds for disciplinary action. 

But I can’t go dressed like this; I just can’t and it’s far too late to rustle up another costume unless I’m prepared to drape a sheet over my head a la Casper the friendly ghost and that I’m afraid is a step way too far.

A knock at the door announces Mulders arrival and I hastily throw my robe on over the medieval hooker waitress costume and belt it tightly around my waist. No point giving Mulder a glimpse of forbidden fruit because I’m pretty sure that he won’t share my opinion as to the unsuitable nature of the dress for a woman of my age and possibly, he might actually not make it to the ball either once he sees it teamed with the fishnets and as much as that scenario appeals to me I doubt Skinner would be very impressed if neither one of us managed to put in an appearance. The coward that resides in me briefly considers hiding in a closet but Mulder has a key and if I don’t open the door pretty soon he will just let himself in so I make my legs move in the direction of the hallway, taking a deep breath and arranging my face in to a neutral expression before I pull open the door to let him in.

Predictably, he looks gorgeous. When he picked out the costume to go try it on I knew it was an excellent choice for him. A tailored tux with a high collar and tiny black jewelled buttons, black cape with a purple satin lining and silver chain to hold it in place across his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slicked back and apart from the vampire fangs that are visible, he hasn’t put any stage make-up on at all. He doesn’t need it. He looks dark and dangerous and so fucking handsome I could cry with disappointment.

But I don’t of course; knowing that if I do he will point blank refuse to go without me and that’s not what I want. So I muster the brightest smile I can as I reach up to graze his cheek with my lips.

“Happy Birthday.”

He smiles back at me, giving me the full benefit of his fangs as he accepts the wrapped gift I grab from the small table that stands beside the door before bringing his hand from behind his back and holding out a beautifully wrapped box in front of him.

“I gotch oo shomehing hoo”

I can’t help but grin as I accept the gift. He sounds ridiculous.

 

“Mulder lose the fangs okay?”

The box he has given me is medium sized and looks suspiciously like a shoe box; Mulder has never bought me shoes before and I can’t imagine why he would start now but as I untie the black satin ribbon that holds the lid in place and fold back the tissue paper within, I am literally dazzled by what I see.

Think Dorothy’s ruby slippers but black. And with 3 inch spike heels. Possibly the most beautiful shoes I have ever seen; totally impractical for normal daily wear but sheer perfection when teamed up with a Halloween dress and I find myself transfixed with the way the light catches the crystals as I hold one in my hand. The sole is a deep red and I know without having to confirm it with him that they were horrifically expensive and I feel my throat begin to close; tears suddenly gathering to blur my vision as I realise he has bought them specifically for me to wear tonight.

He notices of course even though I drop my head in an attempt to hide from him and I am unsurprised to feel him reach out for me, placing a single finger beneath my chin and gently tilting my head so I have to look at him.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”

I shake my head numbly, barely able to force the words out.

“I love them...it’s just that.....I can’t...I can’t go.”

“What? Why not?”

He clearly doesn’t understand my strange mood and since actions speak louder than the words that are sticking in my throat I simply stand up and loosen the tie on my robe, allowing it to fall open to reveal the monstrosity masquerading as a dress that lies beneath.

“They got my order wrong” I manage miserably “I can’t go dressed like this Mulder I’ll be a laughing stock.”

His mouth has quite literally dropped open at the sight of me and I prepare to pick the robe up to put it back on but he is suddenly on his feet gently catching my arm to still my movement.

“Don’t.” The single word leaves his lips on the back of a sigh as he just stands there, his eyes dark and intense. Mulder has beautiful eyes and while there are more crow’s feet there than there used to be, those eyes still have the ability to drown me in the depth of their expression and tonight is no exception. 

He reverently runs his hands down my arms then pulls me down to sit on the sofa, reaching for the shoe box and removing the other shoe before kneeling before me and, like Prince charming in a Dracula cape, he slides each one of those glittering works of art on to my feet, lightly caressing my insteps as he does so. They are a perfect fit just as I knew they would be. And I watch, a small knot of butterflies taking flight in my stomach as he literally draws his gaze up my body, devouring me with his eyes alone.

“You look......My God Scully, you look incredible.”

I laugh nervously.

“Mulder I look fifty one.”

And his palm is instantly cupping my jaw, thumb caressing the soft skin on my cheek; an action of comfort, of protection, of a deep abiding connection to this man that has lasted half my lifetime and it evokes such powerful emotion within me that I can barely breathe; can barely move and certainly am rendered totally unable to tear my eyes away from his.

“You are beautiful......so beautiful Scully”

He kisses me lightly on the lips, lingering slightly as a promise maybe of things to come, before he stands, pulling me with him and stepping back from me. His expression so full of love, so full of respect that I suddenly don’t care what I’m wearing because I could be stood here in a potato sack and he would still tell me I was beautiful and really, it’s only his opinion that matters to me now.

So I take his hand, squeezing his fingers as they automatically lace with mine.

“C’mon G man. We don’t want to be late.”

 

Continued part 2

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my philey friend Clara - she wanted a fluff fic in which Scully is wearing the same dress as Gillian wore in those lovely photos that hit the interwebz last week when she attended the UNICEF Halloween ball. So I obliged. I don't do fluff too often. Made a nice change :)


End file.
